


(re)Learning to Dance

by nefariosity



Series: Lira San Living [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Dancing, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Planet Lira San (Star Wars), Space Husbands, Zeb is an amazing dancer, and Alexsandr loves to watch him dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefariosity/pseuds/nefariosity
Summary: Zeb and the other surviving Lasana lasat may have found a new homeworld, but it can't replace what has been lost. That doesn't mean Alexsandr isn't going to try.Or: Alexsandr and Zeb attend a Lasana winter festival on Lira San, remembering what has been lost, enjoying what is, and looking forward to what is to come.For the 2020 Kalluzeb Secret Holiday Exchange
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Series: Lira San Living [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081577
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43
Collections: Kalluzeb Secret Holiday Exchange 2020





	(re)Learning to Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [7Fanfer7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/7Fanfer7/gifts).



> For 7Fanfer7! MERRY KALLUZEBMAS!
> 
> The prompt was "Pref: Something heckin cute and soft." I originally had something a lot less uh, soft, but this idea came to me while chatting with some peeps on discord and wouldn't let go of my brain, and I thought it fit a lot better. So many thanks to Archangelsanonyous and Mountainside_Possum for helping me work through this idea (and coming up with the title, AND helping me conceptualize Zeb's outfit? omg i'm unworthy), and deathcomealive and TheNightFury for reading over the mostly finished product and reassuring me that it was okay. And as always, a thousand thanks to Anath_Tsurugi for supplying me as well as the rest of this whole beautiful fandom with Lasana. I made up most of the words since they're meant to be names of things and so don't necessarily have any underlying meaning; anything that is more than one word long, though, you can assume Anath gave me. 
> 
> I've been assured by multiple people that this is T rated but am still nervous, lol. Let me know in the comments if you think otherwise.

Alexsandr Kallus felt more nervous than he had in a long time. Tonight was the night he and the rest of the Lasan Remembrance Society had been preparing for for months, even years, depending on how you looked at it. 

Tonight was _arranym bar_ \- the longest night of the year. Lasat all over the planet were celebrating the winter harvest festival, but Varos - the town Zeb and Alexsandr had settled in after the end of the war - was holding a special celebration tonight. A - hopefully - traditional Lasana _Imbazellan_. 

Alexsandr adjusted the waist of his traditional Lasana _kamisaya_ in the mirror. He winced; it pinched at his middle in a way that it hadn’t even last year. And Karabast, his hair was officially more gray than blond now. Nothing to be done about that, and Garazeb always told him it made him look “dashing,” but he was going to have to make sure to make more time for the dojo this year. He’d thought all the _kanikani_ classes he’d done had helped him lose some weight - maybe the _kamisaya_ had shrunk after the last wash? He sucked in his gut to see if that looked any better --

“Ya look gorgeous, love,” said Zeb, coming up behind him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Alexsandr, startled, released his breath in a rush. He turned and looked at his husband. 

Alexsandr always felt he looked a bit of an imposter in any traditional Lasana clothes he wore; Zeb, on the other hand, looked _resplendent_. He was wearing a traditional dress uniform of the Lasan Honor Guard. A white tunic blooming with embroidered blue blossoms of the Mala of the Royal House of Lasan fell to his knees and was cinched at his -still very trim, Alexsandr thought with a mixture of envy and appreciation - waist over a pair of fitted black leggings. Over one shoulder was draped a brilliant cerulean cape, edged with gold thread in a pattern of Mala leaves. A gleaming golden pauldron marked him as a Captain. His bo-rifle, lovingly cleaned until it was practically sparkling and adorned with a sprig of Mala blossoms, was strapped to his back. After so many years together, there was little about Garazeb Orrelios that was unknown to him, but every so often, Alexsandr saw him with fresh eyes. It took his breath away every time, as it did now.

“How do I look?” said Zeb, spreading his arms, but his posture was all wrong. His ears were flat against his head and his shoulders were hunched, almost as if he was trying to hide. Alexsandr raised an evaluating eyebrow. 

“I can’t tell, with you standing like that,” he said. “Atten- _tion_!” Instantly, Zeb’s spine snapped straight, his shoulders thrust back, chin high, arms at his side. 

“Karabast,” muttered Zeb, rolling his eyes and relaxing his shoulders a bit to his more normal posture, still a significant improvement over the slump from before. “Can’t believe tha’ still works.” Alexsandr closed the gap between them, brushed away a bit of fuzz from Zeb’s cape. 

“You look stunning, _ni alitha_ ,” he murmured. 

“I feel like an imposter,” grumbled Zeb. Alexsandr put a hand on each of Zeb’s shoulders. He tried to look him in the eye but Zeb wouldn't meet his gaze. 

“You are the furthest thing from an imposter. _This_ is what you really are. If I - if the Empire hadn’t destroyed Lasan, it’s what you would still be. This is why we’re doing this tonight. To help preserve everything that was lost. And who better to be there than you?” 

“S’pose you’re right,” he said, finally meeting Alexsandr’s eyes and flashing him a quick grin, although Alexsandr could tell he wasn’t convinced. 

“Is something else the matter?” he asked gently. Zeb shook his head. 

“I dunno. It’s just - _Imbazellan_ , y’know?” Alexsandr didn’t know, not really. He was a founding member and secretary for the event planning committee of the Lasana Remembrance Society, and so he’d learned a lot about Lasana culture over the past five years. He knew what foods were traditionally served around _Imbazellan_ , what dances were performed, what traditions families usually followed. He’d learned the cultural significance and the origins of the festival. But he didn’t know the excitement a Lasana kit would feel as his mother lit candles in the windows as they left for the festival, the kind of atmosphere that perfused the air in the weeks leading up to the day itself. Didn’t know the memories his husband must have associated with the holiday, could barely begin to fathom the sense of loss he must be feeling even as they prepared to attend a celebration that would be as authentic as Alexsandr, two Lasana survivors, and a whole host of Lira Sana volunteers could possibly make it, but would still… never be the same again. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zeb shook his head. 

“Not now,” he said gruffly. Alexsandr took that to mean “not ever, probably.” He leaned his face in close to his husband’s, rubbing one cheek up against Zeb’s, then the other. 

“All right, then,” said Alexsandr quietly. “You sure you’re up to go tonight?” 

“‘Course,” said Zeb, sniffing. “Yeh’ve worked so hard on getting all this together this month - this year, really.” 

“Everything is ready to go,” pressed Alexsandr. “The committee can go on without me.” 

“Nah, I’ll be all righ’” said Zeb. Alexsandr could almost see as he shook off his melancholy, or more likely, pushed it down inside him. “Think I heard somethin’ about that first batch of _dehi_ wine bein’ ready?” 

“That’s right,” said Alexsandr. They’d planted the fruit trees four years ago now -after several trips to Lasan to find seeds and surviving trees they could use for grafts - and the very first harvest had finished fermenting just weeks ago. Tonight was to be the grand reveal. “And there’ll be _karapimca.”_

That won Alexsandr Zeb’s first real smile of the night.

“Yeh, I think they’ve finally almost got the recipe figured out now,” he said. He pulled Alexsandr in close, enveloping him in an embrace. 

“You always know how to cheer me up, ni alitha,” whispered Zeb. “Thanks for puttin’ all this together.” 

Feelings of guilt rose up at that - _without me, we wouldn’t even need to do this_ \- but he pushed them down, as he always did these days. Such guilt was pointless. The past was done, and all he could do was move forward and try to make amends. 

He took Zeb’s arm, heart still fluttering a bit at how handsome he looked in his dress uniform. 

“Then let’s get going.” 

As they left the bedroom, Alexsandr snagged the lighter he’d got out earlier that day and pressed it into Zeb’s palm. 

“The candles,” he said, gesturing to the two he’d set out in the window earlier in the week. “Would you like to do the honors?” 

Zeb’s ears flattened against his head in clear anxiety, but he didn’t voice what he was feeling. He curled his fist around the lighter and walked over to the window, not letting go of Alexsandr’s hand. “Together,” he said gruffly. He held out his right hand with the lighter in the palm. Alexsandr squeezed close and clasped his left hand with Zeb’s right, moving together to light first one candle, then the other. A candle for each of them, their lights burning brightly to keep away the dark on the longest night of the year. 

“ _Ashla navsarrir lis se bog zalv arranym bar_ ,” murmured Zeb. As well as Alexsandr knew him, his expression was unfathomable. He gazed at the candles with a strange intensity for quite a few moments, his grip on Alexsandr’s hand becoming almost unbearably tight. Finally he shook himself and grinned sheepishly at Alexsandr. 

“Sorry,” he chuckled, though it sounded forced. “Better hurry if we don’t wanna be late.” 

* * *

They were actually very nearly late, one of the last of their village to arrive in the town square. The inhabitants of the village looked as though they were all but finished with their _bahan_ ; indeed, Zeb and Alexsandr got two of the last ten or so out of two hundred or so that Alexsandr had helped make in the days leading up to the festival. 

Lira Sana festivals, and he supposed, Lasana ones were much less structured than anything Alexsandr had experienced in the Empire, or growing up on Coruscant in the days of the Republic. Festivals on Lira San didn’t have a well defined beginning or end, and Alexsandr often despaired that in general Lira Sana didn’t seem to have the concept of _punctuality._ But it seemed they did, with the right motivation - because this particular event was one that could be _missed_. 

Alexsandr considered his violet _bahan_. It was a paper lantern, upon which a being was meant to write a regret to let go of from the year gone by, and a hope or intention for the year to come. When the sun dipped below the horizon, the lanterns would be lit and released into the sky. Alexsandr took the provided pen in hand clumsily, and wrote in the block aurabesh he dimly remembered learning in school - not much need for it in a society of data pads, but it did occasionally come in handy. His penmanship was unpracticed and unpolished, but the words were sure, a mantra of his since he’d come to Lira San. 

“The eternal struggle,” he wrote. “Let go of your guilt, and work tirelessly for a better future.” He peeked over at Zeb, who had his pen in his mouth and was staring off into space. There were just a few words scrawled in an elegant Lasana script on the royal blue paper. Alexsandr didn’t look too hard, giving Zeb his privacy. He’d show Alexsandr if he wanted.

It didn’t look like Zeb was ready to share that day. Alexsandr feigned busyness, listening idly to the chatter around him as Zeb stared a bit longer before sighing and bent back over his own _bahan_ , scrawling a few more words. He finally tapped Alexsandr on the shoulder and flashed him a tight smile. 

“Ready?” he said in a low voice. Alexsandr nodded. 

“And just in time.” The sun was, indeed, just starting to dip below the horizon, and a hush was falling over the crowd. Slowly, pinpricks of light flickered among the crowd as lasat lit their lanterns and released them into the sky. Alexsandr watched as the first few lone _bahan_ floating into the air turned in a wave of glowing, blue, purple, and red that filled the sky. The lasat next to Alexsandr finished lighting her own lantern and handed the lighter off to him. 

“ _S nastuypayushchim_ ” he murmured in Russka, his immigrant parents’ native tongue, almost but not quite forgotten in a lifetime on Coruscant and then in Imperial service. He lit the lantern but didn’t let go quite yet, turned to hand the lighter off to Zeb. He repressed a concerned noise as he noted tears pricking in the corners of Zeb’s eyes, not wanting to bring attention to it in public. Wordlessly, Zeb took the lighter from him and lit his own lantern, then took Alexsandr’s free hand in his own and squeezed. Alexsandr took this as their cue, and they simultaneously launched their lanterns into the sky, watching as they joined the hundreds of others that had already lifted off into the air. 

_“Ashla navsarrir lis se bog zalv arranym bar,”_ murmured Zeb again and Alexsandr realized that beings around them were murmuring the same thing in the Lira Sana dialect. _Ashla, protect us from the dark on the longest night._ Alexsandr squeezed Zeb’s hand a little harder. 

He murmured the Russkan phrase one more time along with them, the one his father had always said to him, then his sister, then to his mother, with a kiss on each of their cheeks as they celebrated a shadow of the holiday his parents had known on their home planet down in the muck of the lower levels of Coruscant to welcome in a new year.

 _To what will come_.

* * *

He knew he shouldn’t be, but Alexsandr was anxiously hovering in the kitchen for the third time since the feast had started. Started, again, being a relative word on Lira San, as some beings had been seated for an hour and some were still leisurely making their way over to the cultural center from the town square. Sometimes, Alexsandr missed the regimented lifestyle of an Imperial officer. 

“More guests have arrived,” he said urgently to Na’ala, the chef he knew was most likely to acknowledge him when he got like this. “We’re up to about two dozen more than our original estimate at _least_ \--” 

“ _Sashisa_ ,” chided Na’ala, addressing him as she would a kit and brandishing her spoon at him. “The winter festival is a time for beings to be with their families. You’re depriving your mate of his. We know how to cook for a party. Go enjoy yourself.” 

“Of course,” said Alexsandr, properly chastened. He bowed, causing Na’ala to scoff. 

“Out of my kitchen!” Alexsandr huffed out a breath and beat a hasty retreat back to the low table where he was sitting with Zeb and a group of friends, including Zeb’s old Honor Guard Captain Adami and his wife Rata, who’d been spared the slaughter after their retirement to a remote mountain cabin and had made their way to Lira San shortly after the crew of the _Ghost_ had found it. Zeb welcomed him back with an exuberant “Sasha!” They hadn’t unveiled the special Lasana _dehi_ wine yet - there wasn’t enough to supply a proper Imbazellan feast- but Lira Sana ale, mead, and wine were flowing freely, and a few glasses seemed to have drained away the last of Zeb’s melancholy mood. That was a relief to Alexsandr. The very last thing he wanted was for this celebration to be something that Zeb had to simply endure. 

“Here, try some a’ this,” Zeb said jovially, pulling a large, flat piece of bread from the towering pile at their end of the table and piling it high with a colorful mix of vegetables in a sauce that smelled absolutely heavenly. He drizzled it with just a touch of the spiced _tosa_ from one of the many jars placed along the length of the table. “Best _tiyasa_ I’ve had in decades,” he groaned, mouth already full of another bite of the stuff.

Alexsandr breathed in the scent of the _tiyasa_ before taking a large bite. He let out a tiny moan of pleasure as the flavor burst on his tongue, a tantalizing mix of spicy and sweet with an acid bite and a pleasing crunch. 

“Stars,” he mumbled around a mouthful of bread and vegetables. 

“S’good, right? I used to get this all the time from this street cart in _Loara_ when I was at the academy…” 

“That’s righ’,” chimed in Adami. “This one was always runnin’ away when he shouldn't've been. Pain in my arse, I tell you. Don’t know who recommended this one for Captain, pagh!” 

“You did, dear,” chimed in Rata. 

“Nah, couldn’ta been…”

Alexsandr watched the exchange carefully, ready to provide emotional support, but it appeared that this reminiscing wasn’t causing Zeb any pain, as it so often did. Alexsandr’s heart swelled. Good. Joyful remembrance. That was the whole point of this dinner after all, the point of the whole Remembrance Society. 

“Everybody! Your ears to me!” Alexsandr looked up to see one of the Elders of Varos stand and raise a glass. Alexsandr looked around, and sure enough, servers were placing glasses of a pale yellow drink in front of everybody at the table. He nodded his thanks at the server as she placed his and Zeb’s glasses in front of them. 

“I know you’re all here to eat and not to listen to an old man talk,” he said, smiling. “But know that you’re about to drink the first vintage of _dehi_ wine to exist in over twenty years. Our Lasan Remembrance Society has done their best to restore something precious to our Lasana brothers and sisters. Let’s drink it together, now, in remembrance of what we’ve lost, and in contemplation of the better future we strive to build every day. _Ashlana_.”

“ _Ashlana_.” The group murmured the word as one and bowed their heads. Alexsandr ducked his down as well, reaching out one hand for Zeb’s under the table. Zeb took it and squeezed. A peek out of the corner of his eye revealed a Zeb that was at least outwardly composed. The gathering stayed silent for a few moments before the chatter began to build back up again and beings began to taste the proffered wine. Alexsandr picked up his glass nervously, listening to the chatter around him. He thought it sounded positive, but a Lira Sana wouldn’t know what it was supposed to taste like. Alexsandr cared about the experience of only one person.

Zeb picked up his glass and raised an eyebrow at Alexsandr, clinked their glasses together. He reached across the table to do the same with Adami and Rata. Alexsandr followed suit. “To Lasan,” said Zeb. “Let’s see how it tastes, shall we?” 

“You first.” _Dehi_ fruit was notoriously difficult to grow, even on Lasan where it had been cultivated for centuries, able to be farmed only at the bases of the rocky mountain ranges that dominated the northern hemisphere. Wine made from the fruit was light yet complex. Zeb had told him it’d been drunk almost exclusively during the summer and the winter festivals, and given how rare it was, it was almost considered sacred in Lasana culture, a blessing from the spirits of the solstitial harvests. 

Alexsandr held his breath as Zeb twirled it under his nose, taking in the fragrance, then took a sip. Watched as he closed his eyes, let out a deep sigh. 

“ _Dehi_ wine,” he breathed. He took another small sip, held it in his mouth, savoring it, before swallowing. “That’s it.” He opened his eyes and cocked an attempt at a cheeky eyebrow at Alexsandr. “Not the best I’ve had, mind.” His voice broke a little, belying his attempt at snark. Alexsandr wrapped one hand around his mate’s, squeezed as Zeb surreptitiously wiped away the sparkle of tears that formed in the corner of one eye. Across from them, Adami and Rata were having a similar reaction. Alexsandr watched as Rata buried her face in her husband’s shoulder. 

“Did ya try it,” said Zeb, his breathing coming a little too quickly, his voice sounding a little thick. Alexsandr shook his head and took a sip. He didn’t know what it was supposed to taste like, but judging by the reactions of the Lasana at the table, it tasted fairly authentic. As he’d expected from everything he’d heard, it was light and sweet, and he savored the notes of honey melting on his tongue, the floral bouquet tickling his nose as he sipped. As Zeb had said, it wasn’t the most mature wine, and Alexsandr tasted a bitter note that probably wasn’t supposed to be there, but for the first vintage of a fruit that had been transplanted to a foreign planet, he thought it was pretty damn good. 

“It’s wonderful,” he said. 

“Now it’s really _Imbazellan_ ,” said Adami, glass raised, still cradling Rata’s head against his chest. Alexsandr thought he spied tears in his eyes as well. 

Zeb took another three small, slow sips of the _dehi_ before flashing a grin at Alexsandr and throwing the rest of the glass back in two gulps. Alexsandr gaped at him, scandalized. “Garazeb!” That made Zeb grin at him even wider. 

“C’mon,” he said. “This is a party! We’re gettin’ too sappy over here. Besides, there’s more where that came from, right?” 

“I secured us an extra bottle, but it was only a limited production! The next batch won’t be ready until--” 

“But it will be ready.” Zeb’s smile was infectious. Rata tried to discreetly wipe her eyes. “‘Sides, pretty sure I hear music gettin’ started up out there,” he said, gesturing to the open air pavilion that had been constructed just outside the hall where the banquet was taking place. “Time to get dancin’!” 

* * *

The first thing that Alexsandr Kallus learned about Garazeb Orrelios after arriving on Lira San was that he _loved_ to dance. The very next thing he learned is that lasat from any planet dance a _lot_ , and that being able to participate in the complicated group _kanikani_ was a rite of passage on both planets. He considered himself a decent dancer, but it had taken a year of practice to get good enough for even the “simplest” Lira Sana sequence. He’d built up his repertoire over the years of _kanikani_ from both traditions and was looking forward to showing off the newest once he’d learned for Zeb tonight. 

The four of them made their way out to the pavilion, where the band had started up a tune for one of the simpler _kani_ . Alexsandr, Adami and Zeb stopped by the smaller pavilion at the side of the dance floor, Alexsandr leaving the extravagant collar of his _kamisaya_ , Zeb and Adami their shoulder garments. Adami and Rata found their way to the periphery of the dance floor and took up a more sedate version of the moves on display by the beings around them, while Zeb took Alexsandr’s hand and pulled him to the middle of the throng. Neither _kani_ nor _kanikani_ were romantic in nature - once Alexsandr had asked if any such dances existed. _We’re not in the core anymore, sweetheart_ , Zeb had said. _We do that kind of dancin’ in bed -_ but it made Alexsandr’s heart beat faster all the same when Zeb started the move to pull them both into the dance. Even after all these years, the sight and sensation of his husband’s physical prowess never failed to make him go weak in the knees. 

They twirled through the throng, sometimes breaking apart and changing partners as the dance dictated, but always making their way back to each other. Zeb executed one last spin and came to a stop in Alexsandr’s arms just as the music marked the start of a _kanikani_ . Usually at events like this, one or two Lasana _kanikani_ were thrown into the mix, but tonight, there was nothing Lira Sana on the docket. And Alexsandr had pulled some strings to make sure the one he wanted to show Zeb was first up, while the two of them were still fresh. 

A large number of beings, especially those that were getting on in years and some of the younger kits, made their way off the dance floor to catch their breath, drink some water -or ale, catch up with friends, and of course, cheer on those that stayed on the dance floor. Zeb and Alexsandr got into the starting position, catching their breath from the last dance as the music wound up to the beginning chords of the start of the dance. “Didn’t know ya knew this one,” said Zeb, a little breathlessly. 

“Let’s hope I do,” replied Alexsandr, one eyebrow quirked. 

Six quick, booming drum beats sounded, and they were off. _Kanikani_ were a combination of extremely athletic dance moves and long, complicated series of steps - a demonstration of both physical and mental prowess to impress a potential mate. Zeb and Alexsandr started together, performing complicated, complimentary steps, spinning, jumping, stomping around each other before whirling on to the next partner. 

Each _kanikani_ had a main step sequence with any number of variations, and each variation had a complimentary counterstep. This particular dance had five variations, decided on the spot by each pair. A being could either take the lead or the follow position at the beginning of the dance, with the lead deciding the step with each new pairing for the remainder of the _kanikani_ , and the follow needing to recognize which variation had been chosen and react accordingly. Alexsandr generally took the follow position. Not that he wouldn’t have been happy to lead, but for many of the dances, the lead position had some moves that physically couldn’t be _done_ without digitigrade legs. He didn’t mind, though, relishing the mental challenge that came with the follow position. 

He passed from partner to partner, losing himself in the swirl of of the dance before finally coming back together with Zeb, outstretched hands touching, for a pause in between the first and second sets. “You _have_ been practicin’, haven’t ya?” panted Zeb, a gleam in his eye. “Thought that waist was lookin’ a little more trim.” 

“Did you?” asked Alexsandr, genuinely wanting to know Zeb’s answer. The drum beat, seven times this time, and they were off again before Zeb could answer him. 

In a _kanikani_ , each being danced with each other one. Alexsandr had never danced with a group this big before, and he was reaching the end of his stamina when he finally touched hands with Zeb again. That invigorated him for one last step. Zeb shifted to one foot to lead, and they fell into step together, poetry in motion, moving seamlessly as one after so many years of fighting, then sparring, then loving each other. They finished the dance with a final slide and spin, panting wildly as a final crescendo of drum beats marked the end of the kanikani. The crowd cheered and swarmed the floor once more as the band wound down and started the first notes of another set of _kani_. Many of the younger lasat stayed on the floor, eager to prove their endurance for multiple dances in a row, but by unspoken agreement, Alexsandr and Zeb headed off the floor and collapsed onto one of the many blankets laid out on the ground for exactly this purpose. Zeb offered an arm for Alexsandr to lay on, but he waved him off. “Too hot,” he panted, fanning himself. “In a minute.” 

They lay there for a while, watching the complex flow of the _kani_ , then sat up, waving over Adami and Rata when the next _kanikani_ started. They gulped down water, then sipped on another round of ales a server brought by. Quite a few beings stopped by their blanket, eager to speak with two High Honor Guard Captains. A few Lasana, wanting to hear and share stories of their homeworld. More Lira Sana, wanting to hear stories of heroic deeds by the dashing Captains. 

“I haven’t seen him look this happy in a long time.” Rata had moved closer to Alexsandr to give their husbands some space to hold court and was looking over at her Adami with a fond look on her face. She leaned back on her elbows, legs stretched out in front of her. “I know we can never return to Lasan. That _Imbazellan_ will never be the same.” She raised her face up to the starry sky, eyes closed, taking in a deep breath of the night air. “But this… it almost feels like we’re home. I know how hard you’ve worked on this, Alexsandr. Thank you. You’ve brought a pair of old lasats great joy.” 

If anybody else had said that, Alexsandr would have been filled with guilt for the rest of the night. But Rata and Adami _knew._ “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else,” Rata had reasoned after the initial shock had worn off. “But you’re doing the work to preserve our culture when no other human is. That’s worth something.” Her words now touched him deeply. He found her hand and squeezed it. 

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he said sincerely. He gazed over at Zeb, still laughing with Adami. It was so easy in that moment to imagine Zeb as a young man on Lasan, carefree and in his element. Even since they’d come to Lira San, that was a side of Zeb that he didn’t see very often. They always seemed to be busy, filling their hours with training, projects, jobs. Neither of them knew how to be still. 

Speaking of which… the opening measures of a last _kanikani_ filled the air, and Zeb whipped his head around, grinning at Alexsandr. “I’ve gotta do this one,” he said, scrambling upright. “Watch me,” he said with a wink, before loping easily over to the dance floor and taking an opening position that Alexsandr didn’t recognize. 

“I don’t know this one,” he said, intrigued. He sat forward, the better to see Zeb. 

“Kanikani _kani_ ,” laughed Adami. He was grinning as well. “These Lira Sana don’t have anythin’ like it. Only a child of Lasan can do it justice.” He nudged Alexsandr with an elbow. “Get up closer and watch your man.” Alexsandr blushed, but scrambled to his feet and made his way back to the dance floor. 

There were twelve Lasana at the party that night, and only four of them went up to try their hand at the last _kanikani_ . After just a few moments, Alexsandr could see why. This dance was slower than any of the others Alexsandr had ever seen, but much more athletically demanding. The dancers’ movements looked almost like sparring, but the dancers moved around each other gracefully, leaping over and sliding under one another without actually touching, arms moving as if to make a blow, but sliding harmlessly past their partners with a show of restraint that seemed somehow even more powerful than if they had been really sparring. Alexsandr gasped and flushed when Zeb bent into a handstand, then sprang into a cartwheel to land on his feet in front of his partner. There was much happening between the four participants, and two of the younger lasat were clearly the stars of this particular _kanikani_ , but Alexsandr only had eyes for Zeb, admiring the way his body flowed between positions, marveling at the sheer strength on display as he held some of the more challenging postures. Finally, Zeb and his partner came back together for the final stance. They did not switch, as they usually would with a _kanikani_ , but bowed and gestured toward the two other - much younger, Alexsandr noticed - dancers, before leaving the floor. The dancers took up new stances and prepared themselves as the music wound up one last time. 

Zeb spotted Alexsandr in the crowd and made his way over, still breathing heavily. “Didja like it?”

“That was incredible,” said Alexsandr breathlessly. Zeb shrugged, affecting nonchalance, but his grin was a mile wide. 

“Me an’ Tythus, couldn’t do the second part, can’t do what those young bucks up there are doin’ anymore,” he said waving a hand over at the main floor, where one of the younger lasat was finishing up a triple backflip to the ecstatic cheers of the crowds, but Alexsandr was barely paying attention. He felt the sound of the crowd fade, his whole world narrowing to the feel of Zeb’s hand low on his back, the scent of his musk, strong from his recent exertion, the sight of his whole being glowing with a happy satisfaction. His smile looked radiant in the soft glow of the orbs strung across the pavillion.

“Garazeb…”

“Whaddya think, should we get out of here?” Zeb growled this low into Alexsandr’s ear, pulled him tight against him. 

“Mmm,” Alexsandr closed the small gap between them, clutched at Zeb’s tunic as he leaned in for a kiss, heedless of the crowd that pressed in around them. Until someone whistled at them and he broke away, suddenly remembering where they were. “We should stay,” he said, a little reluctantly. “At least a little longer. This party’s only for tonight, and we can do -- _that_ \-- any time.”

“I s’pose,” said Zeb. He didn’t look convinced. Alexsandr disentangled himself from Zeb’s arms, which were starting to wander even lower than they already were. 

“They’re probably starting to serve dessert now,” he said firmly. “And we at least need to say goodbye to Adami and Rata.” 

“All right, s’pose we can stick around,” said Zeb, his ears perking up at the word “dessert.” 

In the end, they didn’t end up staying much longer. Zeb made a beeline for the dessert table and dutifully made small talk with Alexsandr with a few other, less close friends, but Alexsandr could tell that he was reaching the end of his social rope, and to be honest, he was as well. They took their leave with Adami and Rata just as “the real party” was getting started, according to a “young buck” they overheard, and didn’t _that_ make Alexsandr feel every one of the gray hairs on his head. 

They collected the set-aside parts of their outfits and made their slow way home, occasionally stopped by well-wishers and friends. 

" _Imbazellan ashlana,"_ they finally said to the last one just outside their gate, and stepped inside. The candles they'd lit before they left were burned about halfway down; they were meant to continue to burn the whole night, extinguishing themselves after the sun had risen. Only once they had could Alexsandr and Zeb exchange the gifts they'd got for each other, although Alexsandr figured it would actually be much later than that. He spared an eye for the candles, making sure they weren't near anything that could catch on fire before leading Zeb into the bedroom. 

* * *

“So what did you think?” asked Alexsandr once they’d taken a quick shower and were in their bed for the night. “Did you have a good time?” 

“You did good, Sasha,” said Zeb softly, reaching out an arm to invite Alexsandr to curl up with him, which he did. “The whole Society did. It was pretty damn authentic.” He thought a moment before continuing. “It was like the wine,” he said. “I knew it wasn’ the same, ya know? It was... similar, but new. I was rememberin’ all the good times on Lasan, but I was feelin’ happy at the same time. It doesn’t usually happen like tha’. Does that make sense?” 

“I think so,” murmured Alexsandr, stroking his husband’s face. “You _looked_ happy all night.” 

“I was,” said Zeb, and he sounded almost… incredulous. “I really was. It was fun.” 

“I liked watching you dance, there at the end, Garazeb,” said Alexsandr. “ _Very_ impressive.”

“Oh yeah?” Zeb turned as much as he could so he could see Alexsandr's face more directly. The look in his eyes made Alexsandr's heart flutter. 

“Mmhmm.” 

Zeb’s eyes narrowed. “Ya know…” he said slowly. “It was almost the perfect night. Good food, good booze, music, dancin’…” 

“Dessert.” Zeb rolled his eyes. 

“I know, I know. I think I earned it, okay?” 

“I never said you didn’t.” 

“Like I was sayin,” said Zeb, pinching Alexsandr’s side, causing Alexsandr to swat at him. “Had everything a healthy lasat could want except one thing.” 

“And what might that be?”

“Oh, I think you know.”

“Why don’t you show me?”

Zeb rolled over and did exactly that.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together, catching their breath for - Alexsandr hoped, he only had so much stamina - the last time that night. He snuggled into Zeb's arms, his eyes falling shut of their own accord and yawned, feeling the fatigue from the day settle down over him and start to drag him into sleep. 

"'M glad you had a good time tonight," he slurred. "I love you, Garazeb. So much." 

" _L'ashkerrir an,_ " murmured Zeb behind him. “ _Imbazellan ashlana,_ my love." 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Quote that inspired the title: 
> 
> “You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”  
> -Anne Lamott
> 
> Imbaza Sellan - Winter Harvest. I figure the word for the festival has been around a long time, and has undergone some erosion accordingly... think of our own "Christmas" from "Christ's mass" I thought that unstressed "za" at the end was ripe for deletion, and then next to the "s" I figured it had no chance. S and z together are pretty naturally going to run together, hence what you see in the fic: Imbazellan. 
> 
> As in my previous fic, I've blatantly stolen Russian for Kallus's parents' native language for his definitely non-canon heritage I've come up with. "С наступающим" (s nastuypayushchim) literally means "with the coming" and according to an article I found is something that is said before the new year.
> 
> By the way, if that's something that interests you, keep an eye on this space for a companion work with a certain "deleted scene" in the next couple days.


End file.
